John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. “Why don’t you wear your white blouse more often? It is the prettiest shirt you own. She was no longer a confederate in that. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. Maggot. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am.
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